


Night Terrors

by thebaberuthless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dreams, Other, Possession, riddle's possession of ginny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaberuthless/pseuds/thebaberuthless
Summary: A brief description of Ginny's life while under the control of Tom Riddle's diary.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Night Terrors

Ginny still remembered what Tom Riddle felt like. She remembered the feeling of never being alone, of having a friend in her pocket, someone who was only for her. She remembered the connection, the one that started off with a small piece of herself, the tiniest bit of information. All Riddle had asked of her was her name. So innocent. So easy. 

But for ancient things, for deadly things, there is power in a name. True control of a thing sleeps where its name does, deep in the heart of stone. 

But she was young. And she was stupid. No one had told her what sort of evil still slept in the world. So she spilled her secrets, her name, her heart out to Riddle. And Riddle, in turn, spilled his soul into her. 

There is a price that comes with carrying around Tom Riddle's soul. It started as nightmares. Black ink filled her dreams, washed her away, filled her mouth and her nose with crud so thick she couldn't wish it away. But in that sea of ink there was always a boy on a book-shaped boat, holding his hand out to save her. But it wasnt a boy with green eyes and a scar that stretched to his eyebrow. No, Riddle came to her rescue every time. And so she kept on writing. She kept sharing the most intimate parts of her 13 year old soul, the things that no one else wanted to listen to.

And then one day Ginny would have sworn that she *felt* Riddle somewhere in her head. As though he was a presence playing hide and seek with her internal monologue. As though when she opened her eyes, it wasn't just her seeing out of them. 

But it was her first year and she was terribly lonely. Maybe it was just stress. 

**Yes,** Riddle had written. **Just stress.** 

She didn't even think twice about it when the blackouts started.

Ginny was in the library when she started to feel fuzzy around the edges. The ink that had invaded her dreams crept into the corners of her vision and she swore she could feel it rising like bile in her throat, as if the ink was coming *from* her, not *for* her. And when she woke up in the girls bathroom, covered in something garish she didn't have the guts to name, she swore she was going mental. 

**Not mental,** Riddle said. **You're just tired. That's all. Busy year. I'll take over for a while.** 

No, she had written back. I don't need you to-- 

But it wasn't as though Riddle was asking, was it? 

Consciousness came and went for her, then. Sometimes she was there and sometimes she wasn't. Sometimes she opened her eyes when she wasn't in control and she could see the most awful things. Her hands dipped in something red and sticky, writing awful things on the walls. But she wasn't strong enough to fight what was already living inside her head. And she didn't know how, or who, to ask for help.

So she tossed the book. 

And then the nightmares took *hold.* 

He came to her when she was sleeping, except he wasn't handsome Riddle anymore. He was a thing that had no real form, just a vaguely human shape and a red mouth that moved like hell itself when it spoke. 

*Ginny,* he whispered. *I know all your secrets. I know how much you envy your brothers, how much you hate the freedom their being born boys gave them. I know how much you want to get away from the smothering arms of your mother. I know how much you pine for him, too. That horrible Harry Potter.* 

But even in the face of her secrets in the light, she was brave. It wasn't so bad, she thought. She could handle this. Many before her had had their deepest secrets told to the world and survived. 

Whatever, she told the figure in the room. I'm not afraid of you. 

And she wasn't. At least not until Riddle really gave her a reason to be. 

Nightly he came to her. Each night, just a little closer. He started at the door, whispering her words back to her. 

*I wish she would leave me alone I dont need a letter every day I'm a girl I'm not completely stupid* 

Then he moved beside her bed and spoke in the most delicate speaking voice she'd ever heard, voice smooth as honey. 

*I don't know how they get away with it all. I half hate them for it. They get to fly and get dirty and make trouble and as soon as they come back to mum with their excuses they're off the hook. I wish they'd just disappear.* 

Over and over again, the same lines repeated until she was covering her ears, unable to think or sleep. But covering her ears hadn't much helped either. He was inside her head. 

And then he was sitting on her chest, arms locked around his knees, smiling a toothy grin and dripping ink like a flood all over her. And she couldn't move and he was screaming, his mouth open and unmoving as sound flooded out of it, like a stereo turned up too loud, a bad song on repeat. 

**I THINK I MIGHT LOVE HIM HE'S JUST SO HANDSOME AND SAD AND I CAN SEE IT IN HIS EYES THAT NO ONE'S EVER SAID THAT THEY LOVE HIM BEFORE AT LEAST NOT THAT HE CAN REMEMBER AND HE WILL NEVER EVEN LOOK AT ME I SWEAR MY BROTHERS WILL BE MY DEFINING TRAIT UNTIL THE DAY I DIE I THINK I MIGHT LOVE HIM HE'S JUST SO HANDSOME--** 

She didn't even remember getting the book back. She didn't remember any of it up until the moment she woke up, half dazed, saw Harry and heard Ron sound so happy that she was alive. And then blackness again. And guilt. So much guilt. It weighed her down like stones in her pockets, even while she slept. 

The hospital wing was full of people when she woke up again, but Ginny felt distinctly alone. There was a hole inside of her that itched when she thought about it too hard. There was no presence behind her eyes, no ink that lay dormant in her belly like a volcano fixing to explode. She was hollow. Riddle, or Voldemort as she knew him now, had hollowed her out. 

Now, with four years of distance between her and the possession that changed her life, she can still feel that itch sometimes. Every now and again, when she starts to feel lonely, she remembers what it feels like to be as close to evil as a person can be. Her dreams are her own again, but sometimes, just sometimes, there's a drop or two of ink. As if she needs reminded, as if something inside of her is trying to say that there are worse things to be than lonely.


End file.
